


Magic And Mayhem

by sheiruki



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, But not an entirely new questline, College of Winterhold - Freeform, College of Winterhold Questline, Gen, It's a questline rewrite, Magic, Pranking, Rating May Change, contains an original character, more characters and tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26714875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheiruki/pseuds/sheiruki
Summary: His search for information on the Elder Scrolls leads Rethul Balasi to the College of Winterhold. What was, at best, supposed to be a small detour quickly reaches alarming poportions.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always ranted about the College of Winterhold questline, and, over time, have written a series of "what ifs". This fanfic is the endeavour to link all those scenes and "what ifs".

Rethul had never been a fan of Winter. All that cold and bleakness was guaranteed to sour the mood. As such, it came as no surprise that the region called Winterhold was not to his liking at all. Freezing and dark in the middle of the day, it made him yearn for his family home on the Gold Coast. Alas, that dream was out of reach.

Icy winds from the Sea of Ghosts swept across the shore, picked up fresh, powdery snow and threw it in Rethul's face where it froze on the wiry hairs of his moustache. Yes, he hated Winter and the hold so fittingly named after it. Why did the college have to be at the end of the world anyway? They were mages, not hermits dammit!

Rethul's legs were hurting from trudging through knee-deep snow all day and his cowl only marginally helped in keeping his ears warm. Now he understood why nords often wore their hair long -on both sides no less. For a split second, he almost considered sacrificing fashion for utility by growing out his undercut. Almost. 

In the distance, lights, hovering over the horizon like tiny torchbugs, came into sight.

Rethul narrowed his eyes and raised his hand to block out the wind. Finally, the town of Winterhold and, by extension, its famous college. 

Fuelled by the need for a hot meal and some mulled wine, Rethul eagerly stomped onwards. 

All that effort for some information about the Elder Scrolls had better be worth it. If the college's reputation as the last refuge for Skyrim's mages was any indication, they had to know at least something. 

As the first houses came into sight, Rethul frowned. What he had expected to be the proud hold capital turned out to be little more than a half-abandoned village with a few lanterns and torch-carrying guards illuminating the streets. Street rather, for there was only one leading past a collection of run-down houses and towards an ominous dark shadow in the distance.

Considering how unimpressive the rest of Winterhold was, that shadow could only be the famous college.

With aching feet and an empty stomach, Rethul made his way towards it. Before him lay a gate. Ancient and weathered, it stood against the wind and anyone trying to pass without permission. 

As Rethul came closer bright, white light flared up, revealing a robed figure wrapped in a thick cloak. 

He pitied the poor person posted out here in the dark at the mercy of the cold. Could those mages not use atronachs instead? Or wards? Either there was a valid reason not to use those means or, as Rethul suspected, it was simply easier to leave a solitary mage waiting for potential passers-by.

"Who goes there?" the figure asked in a sultry, feminine voice.

"Rethul Balasi; my name is Rethul Balasi. I'm here for the College of Winterhold."

Finally, Rethul came head to head with the figure. It was a tall, slender altmer woman whose scrutinising eyes, were illuminated by the pale, magical light floating next to her.

"I see. Truth be told I would have been more surprised if you weren't here for the college. My name is Faralda. I'm the professor for destruction magic. Tell me, what are you hoping to find within?"

Rethul hesitated. Would it be wise to tell the gatekeeper about his mission? About his search for an elder scroll? 

"I've heard so much about your college that I just couldn't help but wonder what it might look like inside," he chuckled, flashing his most charming smile at the altmer woman.

"Ha! Humour is often in short supply here, but still, what else can you offer the college? I know, how about you demonstrate some magical aptitude by casting  _ Fear _ on that sigil on the ground?" She pointed at the sigil in question, a five-pointed star with an eye in its centre - a design that, to Rethul, screamed magic and mystique. 

"Come on, we both know I'll succeed here." He winked at her.

She looked him over. 

"You are charming, I'll admit. Now, please show me you can sway with magic as well as with words. Should you not know Fear, I can sell it to you for a reasonable price."

"So that's how you make some coin out here," huffed Rethul. 

The altmer sorceress responded with a shrug.

He sighed and got to work. In his state - a pit in his stomach, legs shaking from exhaustion- conjuring up enough Magicka to form a coherent spell could prove difficult. 

He stripped his hands of his gloves, positioned himself and took a deep breath. Thankfully,  _ Fear _ was easy to produce. All it took was the memory of his rendezvous with Alduin followed by a too-close-for-comfort encounter with the executioner's axe, and Rethul had gathered enough fear to fuel his spell. Sometimes, being a scaredy-cat paid off.

A faint red glow sprung from his fingertips and at the stone sigil on the ground, which, to his surprise, came alive with magic. 

"Please close your mouth; it's not that impressive," Faralda chided. "Now, let me guide you across the bridge."

She took Rethul's hand and walked him through the gate. The bridge was old and withered stretching across a deep dark chasm separating the college from the town, always close to falling into the sea. What unnerved Rethul more than its decrepit state, however, was the severe lack of handrails or other safeguards protecting hapless apprentices from meeting a grisly end.

"You should really fix this bridge, you know. What if I were to slip and fall to my death?"

"Then you wouldn't be the first."

Rethul gulped and proceeded to plod after Faralda with carefully placed baby steps.

Several arcane ponds were placed on the bridge, each containing a shimmering blue fluid which erupted into a vortex of Magicka as Faralda's spells touched it.

When the gate of the college, tall and imposing, came into sight, their purpose finally became clear: they were locks, and the mages' spells were the key. Ingenious, if a bit impractical.

The gate opened with loud, metallic creaking, giving way to the college's courtyard. Immediately, a fountain of blue Magicka, brighter than the other pools, lighting up a giant statue of a mage, caught Rethul's attention.

"Who's that?" asked Rethul whilst putting his head back to take in the statue's massive size.

"Some sources identify him as Archmage Shalidor, the founder of the college."

Rethul let out an appreciative whistle.

"The guy must've had some pretty impressive skill - and a huge ego."

"Shalidor is known for a vast array of accomplishments - which I shall not discuss now; I have to get back to my post before some drunk villager decides to try their luck on the bridge. Look for Mirabelle Ervine, the Master-Wizard; you'll either find her in the courtyard or the Hall of Attainment, which is to your left."

With that, she turned to leave.

Rethul took a look around. To his left and his right, a tower rose high into the sky. Before him, an even taller one -likely the main hall and the archmage's residence- broke through the thick layer of clouds. What was it with mages and towers anyway?

As instructed, he made his way up to the left tower in search of this Mirabelle Ervine. Just as he was about to open the door - 

"Whoa, careful there." Rethul jumped back, narrowly avoiding having it flung at his face.

Out stumbled a middle-aged Breton woman with shoulder-length brown hair carrying a stack of books she nearly ended up dropping. Startled, she stopped to stare at Rethul and spoke: 

"Oh, hello. Please excuse me, I didn't expect any visitors at this hour. Are you a scholar? Or a new student perhaps?" 

"Uh, my name is Rethul Balasi. I'm a new student, I guess. Faralda told me to look for a certain Mirabelle Ervine," he introduced himself and theatrically brushed some imaginary dust off his coat.

"You're in luck; I am Mirabelle Ervine, the college's Master-Wizard. Under different circumstances, I'd give you a tour of the entire college, but right now I'm in a bit of a hurry. Still, I'll quickly show you the main buildings."

She beckoned Rethul to follow her, leading him past the gate and towards the other tower. 

"This is the Hall of Countenance. It's where the staff resides."

She proceeded onwards to the entrance to the grand tower. 

"This is the heart of the college. Beyond that door lies the Hall of the Elements, our main teaching space. Above it, you'll find the Arcanaeum, which is our library. The archmage's quarters are located at the top of the tower. Please, don't bother the archmage unless it's absolutely necessary."

Rethul cocked an eyebrow. 

"Sounds like you're the one actually running things around here."

Mirabelle nodded.

"The archmage's duties often keep him occupied; he can't deal with the day-to-day activities on top of those, so he has entrusted me with all everyday affairs."

She went back to the tower out of which she had stumbled, with Rethul dutifully trailing behind. 

"This is the Hall of Attainment, where the students have their quarters." She opened the door. "After you."

Rethul bowed slightly and walked past her, into the tower. He found himself in an octagonal room, each wall, except the one opposite of him, holding a door to students' private quarters. In the centre of the room, a Magicka pond shot its bright blue stream up to the second story.

"Please be quiet; someone might be working on a delicate experiment," Mirabelle whispered while making her way to the stairs across from Rethul. "If you make use of our facilities -enchanters, alchemy stations, the library- make sure to clean up after yourself; I wouldn't want anyone slipping on a wayward soulgem."

She walked up the stairs and guided Rethul to a small room. 

"This is where you'll stay. You will get your apprentice robes tomorrow because I really have to go now." She spun around but stopped at the stairs. "Oh, and your first class is tomorrow after breakfast. With Tolfdir, the alteration master. Be punctual!"

With that, she was gone.

Rethul let himself fall onto the bed of this otherwise destitute room, the only notable furniture being said bed, a wardrobe, some cabinets and a chest to store his belongings - of which he clearly had so many.

He brushed a few orange hairs out of his face and sighed. Roped into wizard school when all he wanted was just some information about the elder scrolls. Maybe, he should have been honest from the get-go, but honesty had never been a strength of his. Perhaps, he figured, this development could be an opportunity rather than a chore. Then again, had his life ever been that easy?


	2. Chapter 2

"Careful, J'zargo, you're going to knock over my tea!"

The Hall of the Elements was brimming with life and the mouth-watering smell of breakfast. After missing dinner, last evening Rethul was positively famished. Three tables accompanied by benches and additional chairs formed a half-circle around the magicka pool in the centre of the hall; one table for the teachers -Rethul spotted Faralda and Mirabelle among their numbers- and another for the students.   
There, a khajiit was fishing for a sweetroll on an unoccupied plate at the other side of the table juast as a young dunmer woman barely saved her cup of tea from her classmate's flailing tail.   
Another student, a young nord with shaggy brown hair, tried his best not to laugh, only letting out the occasional snicker. Three older mages, a haughty altmer woman -were there even non-haughty altmer?-, a sly looking bosmer and an older imperial were caught up in a heated discussion, paying no mind to the mischief going on right next to them.

The last table was set with food. The college by no means offered any luxuries, but the humble breakfast looked delicious nevertheless:  
Loaves of freshly baked bread were neatly stacked on a platter at the table's centre, surrounded by smoked ham, dried fish in a nest of seaweed and creamy, blueish cheese. Sadly, all that remained of the sweetrolls was a plate covered in pitiful little crumbs. A final plate hosted a small assortment of sliced fruits and vegetables and, around it, three small bowls filled with jam, honey and butter completed the buffet. A can of hot tea spread its sweet-smelling aroma throughout the large hall, drowning out the probably not-so-good smelling cheese and fish.  
With the enthusiasm of a starving dog in a butcher's shop, Rethul packed his plate with the whole array of foodstuffs and sat down next to the nord. 

The khajiit leaned further forward, balanced on one hand, his knees poised on the edge of the chair on which he sat. If he were not careful, that chair would topple over with him.

"Hurry J'zargo! Ancano may come back any moment," urged the nord.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the chair reached a dangerously steep angle.

One, Rethul counted silently. He would give the khajiit three seconds maximum. 

Two.

The chair's legs scraped across the stone floor. That would not end well.

"Three," Rethul mumbled. 

No sooner had the words left his mouth, did the khajiit manage to snatch the sweet treasure off the plate followed by the chair and khajiit slamming back into an upright position with a loud thud. Quickly, the sweetroll thief wolfed down the spoils of his little venture and focused on his own plate, as if nothing had happened at all. 

"See? No problem at all for the great J'zargo," he boasted, causing the nord to roll his eyes.

"You stole a sweetroll, not a book from the Arcanaeum"

"Yes, but would you have managed to make it disappear so quickly? J'zargo doubts it."

"Oh, I could have-"

"Prove it!"

"Got a sweetroll?"

"Shush, you two he's coming back," the dunmer warned.

Immediately the bickering apprentices fell silent, each staring on his plate. Rethul frowned. 

Who was coming back? Who would warrant such rigorous pranking? 

He did not have long to ponder the question: An altmer with a face as gloomy as Wintehold itself was approaching the table and, as if his apparent sour mood were not enough, he also wore the signature black robes of the Thalmor. 

"Oh, great," Rethul muttered under his breath, promptly earning him an elbow-nudge from the nord.

"Don't let him hear that," he whispered. "You don't want to get on Ancano's bad side."

"You think it would get me in trouble?" Rethul whispered back, watching the thalmor stop to talk to Mirabelle. 

"No, no," the nord dismissed. "He will just become even more of a nuisance."

Rethul chuckled.

"Not really an authority, is he?"

"He sure thinks he is. You won't find a bigger ego in all of Winterhold," the nord muttered. "You'd know if you had been here for even just a few days. Speaking of which, I haven't seen you around before."

"Well, I've only just arrived last night. Rethul Balasi is my name."

"Balasi? That's an offshoot family of house Hlaalu," the dunmer chimed in.

Rethul shrugged. "Doesn't mean much anymore, does it?" He pointed at his fellow students.   
"What are your names, by the way?" 

"My name is Brelyna Maryon," the dunmer introduced herself. "And that's On-" 

"This one is called J'zargo," the khajiit interjected, grinning like a cat that ate the canary.

"He knows who you are; we've said your name more than enough already. Anyway, that's Onmund."

Rethul turned back to the nord, who greeted him with a shy smile.

"Uh, hi."

"Hush now," commanded Brelyna.

Just as the words left her mouth, the Thalmor assumed his place. A deep, ugly scowl distorted his features once he noticed his now empty plate.

"Who stole my sweetroll?" He demanded in a tone that suggested the culprit would be set on fire. Or worse. Quickly, his death glare set on J'zargo.

"What sweetroll? J'zargo didn't see any sweetroll." The khajiit defensively raised his hands.

"Don't lie to me, cat, I know my plate was full." Ancano bent over the table, balancing just like the khajiit had done and grabbed J'zargo by the collar.

"I also didn't see any sweetroll," Onmund agreed. "Did you?" He turned to Brelyna, who shook her head. 

"You must have eaten it already," concluded Rethul. "Hey, don't worry about that little memory slip up. Doing your honourable duty to the Thalmor surely kept you up; no doubt you must be tired." Rethul left his chair, patted the raging Thalmor on the shoulder and prepared his most punchable smile - to make it worth it. 

Ancano was fuming, his face red as a snowberry. His shaking hands gripped the collar tighter, nearly tearing it off.

If looks could kill, Rethul would have fallen headfirst into his cheese.

At last, the Thalmor let go of J'zargo and went to get himself something else to eat all the while grumbling curses like a crotchety old fart.

Rethul's stomach roared with joy as he, finally, after waiting for so long, turned his attention to his breakfast. He had just plunged his fork into a dried fish when someone gently stepped on his foot. 

Rethul paid it no mind. He was hungry, starving, absolutely famished and nothing would keep him from the delicious salvation speared upon his fork - except for someone stepping on his little toe. Hard.

"What?!?" Rethul shot up and found J'zargo giving him a thumbs-up. Rethul answered with a slightly sarcastic grin and, at last, got to enjoy his food. The bread was just as hearty as it appeared. Likewise, the cheese was just as repugnant. Nevertheless, after such a long time he would have just as well eaten a skeever. Surely the unique specialities of the college would grow on him eventually.

The Thalmor -Ancano, was it?- returned, bringing with him his sour mood, which hung over the table like a raincloud, causing the students to finish up in silence. 

Only when breakfast was over and done, and the Hall of the Elements had become Thalmor free, did they return to lively chit-chat. 

Rethul eyed the teachers slowly leaving the hall. Mirabelle, Faralda, a twitchy looking woman, an old nord and an old orc - both sporting fluffy white beards - an imperial who could have used that extra hair, and a nord where even that would not have helped. None of them looked particularly archmage-y. 

"Hey," Onmund handed Rethul a plate and a sponge. "Don't think you can get out of dishwashing duty." 

Rethul cocked an eyebrow. 

"Dishwashing duty?"

"We all have our part to play," explained Brelyna. "Duties rotate every week. One week we do the dishes, the next week the laundry and so on. Didn't you see the schedule hung in the Hall of Attainment?" 

No, he did not. 

Rethul sighed and turned his attention to the now mostly empty buffet while Onmund and J'zargo took care of cups and cutlery. Brelyna went over to the teacher's table and collected the plates there.

"So, are sweetrolls a regular thing or was there a special occasion?" asked Rethul. 

Onmund and J'zargo exchanged questioning glances.

"Brelyna you've been here the longest. Do you know?" Onmund called over to her. 

Brelyna shook her head.

"I've only been here a week longer than you so I wouldn't know. I saw the destruction teacher bring them in though." 

J'zargo's ears twitched as a quick-witted spark ignited in his eyes.

"J'zargo bets she makes them using fire magic. Perhaps he should try that sometime, yes?" 

"J'zargo, my friend, you'd surely share with your new classmate, wouldn't you?" Rethul fawned and aimlessly searched the hall for a place to store the dirty dishes. 

"Let's all collect the dishes over there until Tolfdir brings the water." Brelyna pointed at an empty spot against the wall - a perfect place for dirty dishes. However, before cheese-covered plates and tea-encrusted cups reached their destination, one of the white-beards, the nord, whom Brelyna had announced as Tolfdir, walked in.

Rethul's jaw almost hit the floor. Behind the mage, a large wooden basin filled with steaming water floated through the air like a feather, slowly, descending until it hit the floor with a plonk.

"Don't just stand there," Brelyna directed. "Put down the dishes and help wipe the tables so Tolfdir can stack them." 

It took a good while before Rethul recovered from what he had just seen. Blinking as if to make sure this was reality, he joined his classmates and together, they had the tables cleaned for stacking in no time. 

If seeing the basin float through the air had already been impressive, Rethul could never have fathomed what happened next: All three tables, surrounded by a barely visible orange glow, floated through the air as if held by invisible strings. One after the other, they stacked neatly against the large pillars lining the room.  
"Wow," Rethul breathed, still unable to close his mouth, his gaze switching between the old mage and the tables. That far surpassed any and all magic Rethul had seen up to this point - although that was not saying much. 

"With enough practice, you can do that too," Tolfdir said, smiling. It must have been refreshing to have someone admire what was, undoubtedly, nothing out of the ordinary for the other mages. 

"I hope I'll get there one day; I'm not very experienced yet." 

"Oh, I'm sure you will. All it takes is dedication and a healthy amount of humbleness," Tolfdir explained, still smiling gently. "I assume you'll join the others later on? I teach the introductory lessons as well as Alteration. If you want, you can-"

"Rethul, the dishes are waiting!"

"Alright, alright I'm coming," Rethul called.

"I'll be there," Rethul nodded enthusiastically. "But first," he turned around to face his inescapable duty.

"Dishes"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it's been a while. 
> 
> I always felt the College of Winterhold questline was a bit rushed - especially early on. Therefore I want to use the beginning of this story to introduce the college and its colourful characters (Who all deserve better). Anyway, in the next chapter, prepare for our friends' first class.


End file.
